only way up
by VickyVicarious
Summary: Phoenix has always respected Franziska as an opponent; having her as a friend is new. To his surprise, she is (in her own way) just as much of a genius with it as anything else. [Phoenix/Franziska; part of my Quartered series]
1. unique (9)

I was given a list of prompts with the challenge to write 100 drabbles, each no more than 600 words long. I chose to do things a little differently: instead of one pairing, I'm writing for four of my favorite ones, and attempting to make all the drabbles interconnected and chronological. I'm also picking them at random - shuffled up all the prompt words in a box to make sure. (This is why each chapter has a random number in parentheses as well.)

The summary/title may change as the fic evolves, depending on where the prompts guide me. I have a general idea but can't get too specific for obvious reasons. Also, updates will probably be slow, as I'm cycling my drabbles through each pairing as well as not doing this every day. I'm posting each as a separate story for ease of reading, but they're all in a series if you feel inclined to check the others.

* * *

"Your foolish assistant scribbled this crude depiction of you," she said without preamble, shoving a small card into his face. Phoenix spluttered, stepped back, and it fell to the floor. Franziska glared at him.

"Phoenix Wright! Do I look like someone who has time for your foolish buffoonery?" she snapped.

"…No?" he guessed. "I, um – welcome back to America? It's been a while?"

"Your small talk is tiring," she scolded, tapping a stern toe on the card. "I only came to return your property."

"To America?" Phoenix couldn't help but gape, but one sharp glance and he corrected himself. "Oh – my office. Right. I don't know what this is, though."

Franziska frowned, and pressed her foot flat to the floor just as he bent to pick up the card. She looked away as he glanced quizzically up at her.

"You've never seen it before," she said, voice strangely soft. "But it rightfully belongs to you."

Her cheeks were slightly pink.

"Thank you," Phoenix said, slowly. He got a finger beneath the edge of the card, but waited to pick it up until Franziska removed her boot. She slid it back after a moment, almost reluctantly.

Phoenix stood, turned it around, froze. He'd recognize that pink shell symbol anywhere. And over it – she'd drawn –

"Oh, Maya," he said out loud. Franziska made a quiet sound, and when he looked up, she was biting her lip. She let go of it immediately.

"She had great faith in you," she said, unexpectedly. Then again – this all was. The way she looked at him now most of all, gaze thoughtful, nearly soft.

He tried to smile back just as softly. From the way Franziska blinked, physically jerking back in surprise, he must have managed.

"Thank you, Franziska," he said sincerely. "I don't know why, but thank you for returning this. It. It means a lot."

"Hmph. Only a fool would feel so moved by such a simple matter." She suddenly smiled in that simultaneously condescending and genuine way she had: "I knew you would like it, Phoenix Wright."

Feeling both insulted and a little touched, Phoenix didn't drop his smile. In fact, he felt it getting a little bit fonder. Maybe it was foolish to like her, but he couldn't help it. Franziska was indeed one-of-a-kind – but beneath her rudeness and ruthlessness, she could be quite sweet. The way she tried to cover that up was still, after all, almost cute.

"But why now?" he asked her. It had been some time since de Killer had kidnapped Maya. He'd hardly have believed Franziska would hold onto this for so long, if it weren't for the proof in his hand.

"You have not taken on any cases since your assistant returned home," she said. He noticed her hand clenching and unclenching on the handle of her whip, and realized belatedly that this was, so far, the longest conversation they'd had without it making contact with his face. "It seems you are in need of a reminder: there is a person who believes in your capabilities. Even if she is not with you."

Phoenix didn't say a word about the suspicious phrasing, too afraid for his health.

Instead, he said, "Franziska, you–"

"You once returned a belonging of mine," she snapped, face flushed, eyes averted. She gripped her whip so tightly he heard it creak as she emphasized, "I'm merely returning the favor."

His lungs emptied in a comprehending sigh, even as his heart filled up.

"Franziska–"

"Goodbye! Phoenix Wright." And with a final glare, she exited – leaving him alone, still stunned, pulse racing.

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 **wordcount:** 600

This chapter is set between T&T and AJ. The card being discussed is the Shelly de Killer card that Maya drew Phoenix onto when she was kidnapped; at the end of JFA Franziska said she would give it back to him next time she saw him. It was actually that scene that started me shipping these two, and when she didn't return the card in T&T I've always wanted to read something dealing with that. Since I've never seen it done, it seemed like a perfect start to this fic!


	2. angel (59)

He was drunk.

It was stupid, incredibly idiotic to react like this. He had so many friends to help – Edgeworth was a phone call away, Maya only a bus ride. Larry was actually in town, it was so stupid of him to just sulk off alone like this – but he didn't want them to see him defeated so thoroughly.

Disbarred. The word tasted bitter on his tongue, as he mumbled it into his glass, and he drank again, laughed a little. He'd have to get used to it. He'd – whether it was a trick or not, he'd failed, he'd presented false evidence and been caught and now his career was over. If Gramayre hadn't fled, he'd be convicted too, because of Phoenix's stupid mistake –

"Disgusting."

He grunted in agreement, chin resting on his folded arms as he stared into his glass at his reflection. His hair was messy, his eyes a little wild, lips drawn down. There was a speck of blue in the corner, he didn't recognize it right away but then…

"What are you doing, you fool?" Franziska asked, and Phoenix shot upright to stare at her with wide eyes. She stood next to his barstool, nose wrinkled in disgust, suit and hair and makeup perfect as always, lips painted into a perfect sneer: "I never thought you a drunkard, Phoenix Wright."

"Am not," he countered. He reached out for his glass without looking away from her face, groping awkwardly across the bar. "Objection."

He took another sip.

"Hold your foolish tongue, imbecile," Franziska snapped, then crossed her arms and leaned a little closer, peering at his face with something… startlingly close to open concern. "What is wrong with you?"

Phoenix laughed again.

"Hey, you know how I show my badge to people all the time? I promise I'll stop."

"Lying is rude." Spoken matter-of-factly, as though the idea of him ever just keeping his badge in his pocket was impossible – and she was right, it was, he loved his badge and everything it represented, only now… Now…

"Wh-What do you think you're doing?!" Franziska blurted, actually reached out to touch his arm with a hesitant hand before jerking it back a moment later, her whole face flushed. "Stop weeping!"

"It's not fair," he confided, reaching after her hand, catching it in his as he pleaded his case. Her glove was a smooth, buttery leather; her face burned brighter. "I – I only wanted to help him, I didn't know – "

"Silence, alcohol-pickled cretin!" Franziska yanked her hand back again, more successfully this time. "Cease your whining. What does that ever help?! If you have a problem, then solve it!"

"I can't, not this–"

"Horsefeathers!" she said, the dated term so emphatic that Phoenix fell silent in surprise. Franziska spoke quickly, words clipped short and rushing off her tongue with evident emotion: "I don't know what has you in such a state, but you have no right to be so fragile! You've defeated me, you aren't weak. I've never heard you give up before, it's disgusting! You're supposed to be good at turning a situation around, aren't you?!"

Staring up at Franziska, Phoenix felt his mouth slip open a little bit. Spitting out a furious torrent of – encouragements, weren't they? –and her cheeks were flushed, she was gesturing violently at the air, the lights of the bar glinting off her hair like some sort of halo, she looked like an avenging angel. Beautiful, terrifying, he wasn't worth her at all.

"You're so nice," Phoenix sobbed. He lurched up for a hug, tripped and went down – everything went black.

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 **wordcount:** 600


	3. clumsy (45)

"Get up, Phoenix Wright!"

Standing above him, rolling her whip back into her hands after cracking it against the edge of the unfamiliar bed, stood Franziska. She looked angry, eyes flashing as she pulled her arm back again –

"Wait, no no, 'm up, I –" Phoenix reeled, bleary, to his knees, getting tangled in the sheets and stopping mid-sentence to cover his mouth as nausea rolled through him. "…awake…"

"Good," Franziska sniffed, still glaring. She tucked her whip beneath her arm, then shoved a glass of water into his left hand, and two pills into his right, curtly said, "You have five minutes to shower," and left the room.

Phoenix stared woozily after her. Looked down at his hands. Swallowed the pills, the water, tripped getting out of bed.

The shower helped a little bit. He felt more alert, he could remember Franziska scolding him yesterday, but the time between there and wherever here was still remained totally blank, and – and she was waiting in the kitchenette, whip tapping against her hip, with a palpable fury _radiating_ off of her. She jerked her head up at the sight of him, pointing at the table.

Phoenix sunk silently into his seat, watching her warily. After a moment of just staring, she spun around to snatch a plate off the counter behind her and slam it down in front of him.

"Eat," she hissed.

"Uh," Phoenix replied. He looked down at his eggs and bacon. "What about-"

"I ate three hours ago, fool!"

"…Oh."

The silence was brutal. Phoenix tucked in, reluctantly at first, but the simple food was good and he abruptly realized he was very hungry. His head was starting to clear a little bit, just enough to fully process the _dread_ evoked by Franziska standing by the counter, just watching him eat. She didn't even sit down, or look away once. Phoenix could feel himself starting to sweat.

Once his plate was empty, Franziska impatiently whisked it away. She filled another glass of water and forcefully set it down before him, then glared until he drank that down too. When he finished, she put it under the tap again –

"I'm sorry," Phoenix blurted, unable to take the tension any longer. He'd never been cared for so menacingly in his _life_. "And thanks."

"You were a pathetic sight last night," she told him, eyes narrowing accusingly. "More pathetic than I've ever seen you, which is difficult to achieve."

"…Thanks," he said again, much less gratefully.

"You were _hopeless_ ," Franziska snapped, "something I never thought I'd see on such an idealistic fool as you."

"Yeah, well," he laughed bitterly, "I don't know if you've heard…"

"Shut your mouth," Franziska commanded, and she sounded so _upset_ that he did. Her hands were squeezing around her whip, her lips trembling a little. "I've read the news. I know exactly what happened, Phoenix Wright."

He could hear the disappointment in her voice; felt shame roiling in his gut to match.

"The last time we spoke," she said, red rising on her cheeks, "I told you, there are people who believe in you. I told you –"

"I'm sorry," Phoenix told her softly, aching: "I'm sorry, Franziska."

"No!" She shook her head back and forth. "Don't _give up_ – fix this!"

"I don't know how." He took a risk, and reached out to touch her hand. She gripped back tightly, taking a step closer. "I don't think I can."

"You can and you will!" she demanded, and Phoenix couldn't help but smile. She was trying so hard. His heart felt bruised, painfully swollen.

"…I'll try."

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wordcount: 600


	4. last (63)

He carefully tiptoed out of his bedroom, into the bathroom. Locked the door. Hesitated, then eased into the shower and slid the curtain closed, before taking out his phone.

"Phoenix Wright!" she answered sharply – and immediately. It made him flinch, then pause for way too long, because that hadn't even been one ring. Was she always this quick, or…?

"This is a phone call, you fool!" Franziska snapped. "You cannot just stand there making foolish faces and expect me to interpret your meaning!"

"Sorry," he whispered, abashed. "I mean – hi, Franziska."

"…Hello." Her voice was still stern but softer in some immeasurable way. Phoenix couldn't help a (probably _very_ foolish) smile. "Why did you call me so late?"

"I – um." That was a very good question, actually. Franziska was nowhere _near_ the top of his list for people to call in a situation like this. Granted, it wasn't a tremendously long list, but he was pretty sure she should be at the bottom.

"And why are you muttering?!"

"Don't _shout_ ," he hissed, peeking anxiously through the shower curtain. "You'll wake her up!"

"…Wake _who?_ "

"Trucy," he blurted. "Zak's daughter, but he's gone and she's sleeping in my room right now, I'm hiding in the shower, I don't know what to do."

"Fool," Franziska scoffed. "Why are you hiding in the shower?"

"I don't _know_."

"Tell me exactly what is going on, you nincompoop," she ordered. Something in her voice sounded almost fond, and he found himself wishing he had one of those fancy phones that could do video calls. He had a feeling she might actually be smiling.

"I – look, I wanted to talk to her. I thought she might have some clues for me or, or something. But when she got here she looked so… I mean, I know her dad is gone, but apparently she doesn't have anyone else and she's been staying in this really awful home for the past two weeks, and I just –"

Franziska made a quiet, breathy sound - either a laugh or a scoff.

"-told her she could stay here and I'd help her look for her mother or someone, and then she started to cry and hugged me and I promised that _I'd adopt her_ , I don't even have a second bedroom! It's why I'm in the shower!"

That was definitely a laugh.

"It's not _funny_ ," Phoenix hissed. "I destroyed her life."

"Shut your trap," She said, no longer amused. "You're nothing like Papa."

Phoenix fell silent, a cold feeling trickling into his gut. He hadn't even thought about it like that, but now he couldn't help imagining himself poisoning a vulnerable Trucy with his grudges. It was a horrifying image; he refused to ever be anything like that. He'd make _sure_ Trucy was never affected by any of his bitter feelings relating to that trial. He'd – and now he was thinking of it as a foregone conclusion, that he actually would adopt her.

"I've seen you with Pearl Fey," Franziska told him, low and… _reassuring_ , despite all odds. "You will make a passable father."

"Passable?" he asked, because all he'd heard was _will_ and it was making his heart beat harder, his cheeks flush. She sounded so completely _certain_.

"An imbecile like you can never hope for perfect!" she lashed, a verbal version of her favored weapon. "If you expected me to reassure you of that, this was a wasted call!"

"N-no, I–" he gave up. "Thanks, Franziska. This… actually helped."

"Don't call me past nine again unless you have your badge back," she snipped, then hung up.

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wordcount: 600


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